


Over and Over

by paintsplatteredteardrops



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Angst, M/M, Pining, Self-Destruction, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-03
Updated: 2012-12-03
Packaged: 2017-11-20 03:40:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,771
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/580920
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/paintsplatteredteardrops/pseuds/paintsplatteredteardrops
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry is sick and tired of Louis’s constant mind games, but he can’t seem to stop falling for him. Based on the song ‘Over and Over’ by Three Days Grace.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Over and Over

_I feel it everyday_   
_It’s all the same_   
_It brings me down_   
_But I’m the one to blame_

The days pass as quickly as strangers on the sidewalk, but nothing ever seems to change. Promos, interviews, and preparation for the tour leave very little time to relax and just have a good time, but sometimes, Harry likes it better that way. It helps take his mind off of things, things that plague his mind when he lies in bed at night, when he gets up in the morning, and when he’s sitting on his arse, refusing to answer his phone and take responsibility for the misery that consumes his life.

He knows it’s his fault that he’s like this. He wants to blame Louis, wants more than anything to throw him to the ground and spit on him and curse him for tearing out his heart continuously, a little bit more everyday, but he knows he can’t do that, because it’s not Louis’s fault. Not really.

_‘Just once more’, Louis will whisper, pressing soft, feathery kisses to his neck and running his hands up and down Harry’s biceps._

_‘No, Louis, please, I can’t’, Harry will whisper back, although his low, quiet moans tell a different story._

_‘This is just between you and me. Nobody has to know’. He will continue to lick his neck, nip at his ear, before pulling back and staring up at him with a pleading, sparkly blue gaze he is fully aware Harry is incapable of resisting. ‘Please’._

_And with that, Harry will relent, grasping Louis’s face between his hands and licking into his mouth until it’s dry, falling back onto the mattress, his body willing him to do what his mind and heart knows he shouldn’t._

_Later on, when they have discarded the condom and moved to separate ends of Harry’s bed, a cold, harsh gap between them and their backs facing each other’s, Louis will fall asleep, snoring softly and snuggling contently into the sheets, and Harry will cry, and it feels like he won’t stop until he wakes up the next morning to find his bed empty, Louis gone, and another piece of his heart taken with him._

He hates feeling like this. Hates himself for it, because he’s never been able to resist Louis. He’d been his since the day they met. The memories, of their carefree time during X-Factor, the life-long friendships that had been formed, which hadn’t broken to this day and Harry knew never would, should bring a smile to his face, but he finds they don’t. Not anymore.

He remembers the way Louis would touch him. Recklessly, intimately, to the point where Harry often forgot he’d had a girlfriend. He remembers the way they flirted, Louis tickling him, running his fingers through his hair, biting his shoulder and staring so deeply into his eyes Harry swore he was naked. Harry always felt naked around Louis. Exposed, vulnerable, like he could see right through him. And he could.

Harry knew he shouldn’t have done it, shouldn’t have let Louis kiss him and undress him and fuck him till he couldn’t walk properly for half a week, but he did. He let Louis, and that is why he has nobody to blame but himself. He could have said no. Could’ve easily shoved him away, told him it was wrong. That he wouldn’t be the one to help Louis cheat on his girlfriend. But he didn’t. He didn’t want to. He was selfish. He came undone at Louis’s touch, reeling as his tongue slid against his, as his hands fisted in his hair and tugged him closer, at the way their bodies slotted against each other as if they were made to collide. He wanted him too much to ever say no.

He would never stop hating himself for it.

_I’ve tried everything to get away_   
_So here I go again_   
_Chasing you down again_   
_Why do I do this?_

It continues like this for 6 months, until Hannah finds a naked picture of Harry on Louis’s phone and kicks him to the curb. Louis is broken up over it, sobbing into Zayn’s shoulder, ‘I loved her so much’, as Harry sits on the other side of the room, feeling dirty and naked under Niall and Liam’s sharp, concerned stares. He sits with his chin resting on his knees, his arms wrapped tightly around his legs, his mind buzzing with both relief and anger. Relief that Hannah, sweet, kind, beautiful Hannah, finally knew the truth, and that he no longer needed to feel guilty for loving Louis. Anger that Louis had the nerve to be upset about it, as if he didn’t deserve it, as if he didn’t see it coming.

But Harry still can’t hate him. Even though he had been a horrible boyfriend to Hannah, a horrible person, who cheated on his girlfriend continuously, manipulated Harry with his eyes and his lips and a deft hand on his cock, with whispered sweet nothings in his ears that sounded a lot like everything, even though he acted like a complete and utter shit, Harry doesn’t hate him.

So he gives him time. Time to mourn Hannah and figure out what exactly he wants. He and Harry are still close, still the best of friends. They simply have a lot more sex than most normal best friends do. For some reason, it has never changed anything between them. No matter what Louis does to him, whether he tells him they will never be more than friends-with-benefits, or that he’s nothing more than a warm mouth and a vacant bed, they still always greet each other with a wide smile and a promise for adventure.

It confuses Harry, confuses him to the point where he can’t even think straight, but he takes it as a sign that maybe Louis feels the same way. Maybe he feels the same, but isn’t ready to admit it. So Harry chooses to see the break-up with Hannah as a step forward. Just one step closer to Louis being his once and for all. Although he knows there will always be a part of him that hates himself for what they had done to Hannah, the part of him that loves Louis, wants him with every fibre of his being, is strong enough to overpower the guilt, to bury it beneath his subconscious.

It takes 3 weeks for Louis to come around. He shows up to Harry’s flat, drunker than Harry had hoped he’d be, immediately latching his teeth to his neck, sucking an intense lovebite onto the tender flesh. Harry’s head tilts back, responding to his touch, a soft moan escaping his lips as he grips Louis’s waist and pulls him toward his bedroom.

As they fall backward, their legs and feet a tangle at the foot of the bed, a radiant smile graces Harry’s features as he combs his fingers through Louis’s hair. Louis is being slower than usual, carefully unbuttoning Harry’s shirt, kissing down his chest as he does so. When he shifts upwards to meet his lips, Harry says something that alters the mood completely, that erases the look of pleasure from Louis’s face immediately, replacing it with a look that is scarily close to revulsion.

“Does this mean you’re finally ready to be with me?” He asks breathlessly, his thumb grazing Louis’s chiselled cheekbone.

“What are you talking about?” His voice is so sharp Harry feels as if he’s been cut with a razor.

He swallows hoarsely, but continues to stroke Louis’s skin. “You know. You must. Isn’t that why you’re here?”

Louis pushes himself off of Harry’s chest, landing heavily on the mattress, nearly sending Harry flying off the bed. “I’m here to do what we always do.”

“Yeah, I know. But… Isn’t it take for a change? You’re not with Hannah anymore, I’ve been waiting for you this whole time. All I’ve been needing is for you to say yes.” He smiles brightly and leans forward to kiss him, but Louis once again pulls back, leaping off the bed.

Harry’s face falls.

“I don’t know what you think this is, Harry, but I’m not here to be your boyfriend”, he says sternly. “You’re a good mate, and you’re good, like, you know, to fool around with and stuff, but… I don’t want to go out with you or anything.”

He’s not sure what a breaking heart feels like, but if it’s anything like the sinking feeling within his gut, the stinging beneath his eyelids, and the sharp pang that attacks him inside his chest, he thinks this must be it. His mouth hangs open, the stinging in his eyes turning to tears that trickle down his cheeks. He tastes salt in his mouth as the tears continue to fall, and finds that words are completely lost to him at that moment. For once in his life, he has no idea what to say.

“Look, mate”, Louis mutters, sounding more sympathetic, but still distant, so distant that Harry swears he isn’t even in the same room. “I’m sorry you thought that was the case, but, like, I don’t really remember ever leading you on. I mean, I thought it was obvious what was going on.”

Harry chokes, a painful sob escaping his throat as he stares up at Louis, his wide green eyes beacons of nothing but pain. Louis flinches at the sight.

“Harry”, he whispers, kneeling in front of him, placing his hands on his shoulders. “Don’t cry, please.” He wipes away the tears with his thumbs. “I love you, you know I do.” He leans forward and kisses him softly on the mouth, hands still wiping away at his cheeks. “I just… don’t love you like that.”

Harry wants to scream. He wants to tackle Louis to the ground and punch him in the stomach over and over so he understands what this feels like. To have your best friend, who you’ve also been fucking for the last half a year, who you love more than anything in the entire world, tell you they love you, just not like that. They love you enough to suck your cock and fuck you into the mattress until it leaves creases in your face, but not enough to hold your hand and kiss your cheek and tell you you’re worth something.

“I guess I should go”, he says, giving him one last look before using Harry’s thighs to push himself up. But no. Harry isn’t letting that happen.

He grabs his wrists, pulling himself up. He turns them around and shoves Louis onto the bed, tears still staining his cheeks, his mouth set in a hard line. He pins Louis’s arms to the bed, hovering over his face and staring daggers into Louis’s eyes, attempting to make him feel as naked as he has, and always will, in his presence. Louis stiffens, recoiling as best as he can when he has a hard, strong body covering his own, until Harry attacks his mouth, in what is supposed to be a kiss but ends up more a clashing of teeth, tongue, and lips.

It’s Harry that fucks him this time. He fucks him till he’s completely raw, because he wants him to feel like he does. Wants him to hurt. When Louis moans his name, as he thrusts into him, over and over, harder and harder each time, Harry grips his hair and seethes, “Shut up”, into his ear, because this is for Harry, not Louis. It only succeeds in making him come faster, but Harry doesn’t stop, because he hasn’t finished yet and this is for him. He wants Louis to know this, to feel it in the way Harry fucks him with a noticeable absence of tenderness.

When Harry finally comes, he rolls off of Louis, his cock numb and aching. He wants to shove Louis off the bed, tell him to leave, scream that he will never want him ever again, but he can’t. It didn’t matter how angry he was moments before, or that what just took place could only ever be described as hate sex. All he wants is to hold Louis close, kiss him all over his face and whisper into his skin. So when Louis crawls over, still panting and sweaty, resting his head on his chest and slinging an arm across his stomach, Harry melts into his touch, his own arms encircling Louis’s waist.

_Over and over_   
_Over and over_   
_I fall for you_   
_Over and over_   
_Over and over_   
_I try not to_

Harry knows he should push Louis away, tell him he wants nothing to do with him anymore. He knows most of his problems would vanish immediately, that things would be easier. He tries to keep his distance. He sits next to the other boys during interviews, avoids Louis in the studio, and walks the other way when he sees him approaching in his direction. It works, for about a day, until he walks into the recording booth and sees Louis horsing around with Liam, and sees that radiant, eye-crinkling smile flashed toward him. He feels something tug at his heart, an irresistible force that pulls him in Louis’s direction. That makes him want to kiss his crinkled eyelids, press his fingers against his abdomen, to feel the softness of his warm, squishy tummy.

Louis catches him staring and nods at him. “You alright, mate?”

Harry’s heart skips a beat at the sound of Louis’s sweet, angelic voice. He clears his throat before speaking. “Yeah, good. I’m good”. He walks over to him.

Louis slings an arm around his shoulder, pulling him close and giving him a reassuring pat on the back. “Are we okay?”

He wishes he could say no, because he doesn’t want them to be okay. When they’re okay, Louis hurts him. But when they’re not okay, he can’t get him out of his mind, aches to feel the brush of his calloused fingers against his cheek. His bed is cold, his heart is empty, and his mind is LouisLouisLouis. His smile, his laugh, his beautiful voice, the easy way he carries a conversation, and the way he can make Harry laugh with a simple twist of his mouth.

He can’t win. He’ll never be able to win. So he puts on a brave face and wraps a trembling arm around Louis’s waist, squeezing him as he mutters, “Of course”, hoping he and the others don’t catch the sound of utter defeat in his voice.

_It feels like everyday_   
_Stays the same_   
_It’s dragging me down_   
_And I can’t pull away_

“Fuck, Lou, don’t stop, please”, Harry groans into the pillow, the length of Louis’s cold, lube-slicked fingers pressing into him with agonizing slowness. He pulls them back and in again, stroking his hole thoroughly, nipping at Harry’s ear and licking the sensitive spot at the base of his earlobe.

“It’s been so long since we’ve done this. You’re so tight”, Louis whispers hoarsely, massaging Harry’s hunched shoulders.

It hasn’t been very long at all, only 2 and a half weeks since Harry had turned Louis over and given him a taste of his own medicine. But it feels like years to Harry. He pities himself for being so desperate. Louis came barging in, staking his claim on Harry as usual, and Harry had let him. He’d let him push him onto the bed, although his mind had been screaming for him not to. That this was wrong, that Louis would never want to do anything but fuck him, and Harry would remain the same pining, pathetic mess for the rest of his life. But he let him anyway.

When Louis’s fingers have been replaced by his cock and he’s thrusting into Harry with less finesse and carefulness than he had used with his fingers, Harry allows his mind to go blank, basking in the intense pleasure of Louis’s touch, humouring himself into believing that maybe things could change one day. One day, in the future, when Louis has accepted that he isn’t attracted to women, and never will be. He thinks that things could be okay, as long as Louis doesn’t get another girlfriend. He knows it’s unlikely, but Harry had always been a bit of a naïve, optimistic dreamer.

Maybe for once it’ll pay off.

_So here I go again_   
_Chasing you down again_   
_Why do I do this?_

It doesn’t. Louis meets Eleanor on a cold day in September, and by the end of the month, they’re attached at the hip. She’s a giddy one, Harry notes; always laughing at his jokes, even the ones that aren’t funny (it reminds Harry of someone), leaning her pretty brown head against his shoulder, her hand never leaving his arm. She accompanies them to rehearsals, spends more time in the recording studio than she does at school, where Louis won’t stop mentioning she’s studying politics and sociology and oh, she’s just so bloody smart. And Louis flaunts her whenever he can.

The paparazzi loves them. The only places they frequent are the streets of London, shopping malls, and Starbucks (‘Lou doesn’t even like coffee’, Harry moans to Niall, who gives him a reassuring pat on the shoulder and a sad smile), and the only thing Louis can seem to talk about anymore is EleanorEleanorEleanor.

Harry wants to punch him right in his breather because all he’s ever been able to think about is LouisLouisLouis.

The boys confront him about it on their day off, ambushing Harry’s flat and sitting him down on his sofa, declaring it a ‘Louisvention’.

“What are you on about?” Harry asks, rubbing his shoulder which had collided with the rather hard arm of the sofa when the boys not-so-gently shoved him down.

“Look, Harry, you’ve got to move on”, Liam moans, his tone full of plead and pity. Harry winces.

“Yeah, mate. I know you love him and all, and I know you guys had a thing, but he’s moved on”, Zayn elaborates, gesturing wildly with his hands.

“We hate seeing you like this. You deserve to be happy too, you know? If Louis can’t appreciate what’s right in front of him, why should you give a damn about him? You’re a catch, Harry, you know you are”, Niall says, leaning above Harry and squeezing his shoulder.

“I’ve tried, I really have. But you have no idea how hard he makes it”. Harry clenches his fist, because they really have no fucking clue what they’re talking about. They never have. They know he and Louis have fucked multiple times, they know Harry is in love with him, but they don’t know what Louis does. What he continues to do even now.

“What? By flaunting his new piece of arse all over the streets?” Zayn scoffs. “Yeah, we’re not really impressed with how he’s handling this thing with Eleanor. At all. Trust me. But you know Lou. He overcompensates like a bitch, man.”

“I love Louis, I really do”, Liam says, staring not so much at the painting on Harry’s wall, but through it. “He’s a good mate. But…”

“He’s a fucking shite boyfriend”, Niall finishes, making the statement a lot harsher than Liam probably ever could.

“Yeah, basically. You guys are best mates. You still can be. You just have to forgot how things used to be and get over him, yeah?” Liam smiles earnestly, slouching to his knees and slapping his hands against Harry’s thighs. “Now, come on. Let’s order a pizza and have a lad’s night in and not think about Louis ‘Shit for Brains’ Tomlinson, all right?”

Zayn and Niall howl at Liam’s uncharacteristic profane insult, and Harry finds himself smiling for the first time in weeks. He loves them, appreciates their valiant effort to make him feel better, but he can’t take them seriously. Because they don’t know. They don’t know anything.

They don’t know that Louis has shown up to his flat at 2 A.M. every day since he began dating Eleanor, sometimes drunk, sometimes high, sometimes completely sober, and fucked him over and over to the point where Harry could still feel him inside him the next day. Sometimes, when he was especially pissed, he would cry, cry about how his entire life is a lie, about how he doesn’t care about Eleanor and can’t even bring himself to kiss her properly, how it’s all just an act because he doesn’t want people to judge him for what he likes, what he does. And Harry hates nothing more than the sight of Louis’s broken, pained expression as fat tears spill from beneath his eyelashes, so he holds him close and strokes his face and tells him he would never judge him, because he’s everything and there’s nothing he could do to make Harry love him less.

And that is precisely the problem.

So even though Louis will be gone when wakes up, no kiss goodbye, no thank you, not even a note, Harry will still let him in when he shows up the next day, because there’s still nothing he can do to make Harry love him less.

_Over and over_   
_Over and over_   
_I fall for you_   
_Over and over_   
_Over and over_   
_I try not to_

Harry watches Louis with Eleanor, even though it kills him, because Louis is beautiful no matter what he does and he has never been able to keep his eyes off him. He watches as he strokes her hair, takes her shopping and buys her whatever her little heart desires. He watches as she visits them on tour, not once, not twice, but three times, signing fan posters at the shows as if she has a reason to be there. Harry clenches his fists when he sees her in the crowd, bopping along to the music, blowing kisses to Louis as he waves at her from onstage.

He feels like a terrible person for it, but he hates Eleanor. Hates everything about her, everything she stands for. Sometimes because she thinks dating Louis makes her special. Famous, even. She walks around like a model on a catwalk, stonefaced and flipping her wavy brown hair as if everyone else is beneath her. But mostly, he hates her for her blindness. Her blindness to the way Louis stiffens when she throws her arms around his neck, the way he closes his lips when he kisses her and keeps his hands to himself, the way his fingers stick out when they’re holding hands. To Harry, these are tell-tale signs that someone isn’t into you. He wonders if Louis is fucking her. So he asks him.

Louis gives him a look of utter bemusement. “Of course I am. We’ve been going out for 7 months, Harry, I think she’d have tossed me to the curb by now if I didn’t”. He snorts and lies on his back, hands rested beneath his head.

Harry feels ill. He turns on his side, away from Louis, his stomach churning with shame and guilt and utter disgust.

He hears Louis laugh beside him. “You really thought we were being celibate?”

Harry scoffs bitterly. “Not exactly celibate when your dick’s in my arse every night”.

“I meant with her”, he says, shifting and leaning over Harry, resting his palm on Harry’s bicep. Harry shoves him off. “Oh come on, don’t be like that.”

“Then stop fucking me over!” Harry suddenly shouts, fierce and commanding, knocking the look of amusement right off Louis’s face and burying it in the ground.

The room is silent for a while, until Louis sighs and leans over to the bedside table to turn off the light.

“I’ll stop when you stop letting me”.

_Over and over_   
_Over and over_   
_You make me fall for you_   
_Over and over_   
_Over and over_   
_You don’t even try_

When Eleanor breaks up with Louis, he doesn’t cry. Harry thinks it’s because he finally knows he deserves it. This time, the break-up isn’t caused by the discovery of a nude photo, or even her walking in on the two doing the deed. It happens because she grows a pair of eyes. She tells Louis she notices the way Harry looks at him, the way he looks at Harry. She even points out that Louis sometimes seems to “walk funny” on their outings together. When Harry hears this, he can’t help but chuckle, despite his anxiety.

It isn’t so much bitter as it is pitiful. She doesn’t hate Louis, although she wants to punch him in the mouth. Harry thinks that’s the only thing they’ve ever really agreed upon, besides loving him. She tells him she understands. She preaches that there’s nothing wrong with being gay, there’s nothing wrong with loving another man; she just wishes he hadn’t used her to hide a part of himself. When Louis asks her if she’s mad that he was fucking Harry behind her back, she says yes, of course she is. She doesn’t know if she’ll ever forgive him. But it doesn’t matter, because she doesn’t need to.

She leaves without so much as a second glance.

When Louis comes to him later, Harry closes the door in his face. Because if he knows if he doesn’t, if he lets Louis into his flat, lets him reel him in with his whispered words and his soft caresses, he won’t stand a chance. So he shuts him out before he can even speak, and although his heart breaks at the sound of Louis’s muffled voice banging on the door, telling him to let him in because he needs him, Harry turns away, because he’s the one that’s been doing the needing for the last 2 years and it’s time Louis understands just how fucking painful it really is.

_So many thoughts that I can’t get out of my head_   
_I tried to live without you_   
_Every time I do I feel dead_   
_I know what’s best for me_   
_But I want you instead_   
_I’ll keep on wasting all my time_

Harry had hoped pushing Louis away lift a weight off his shoulders, that it would relieve the stress, agony, and pain he’d grown so used to feeling, but it doesn’t. Because he misses Louis. Not the mind games, not the fucking, not the hot-and-cold manner in which Louis treated him. He misses Louis.

They don’t talk anymore. They see each other every single day, but they don’t speak. The other boys notice the distance between them, because how could they not? Because even when things were at their most fucked up, Harry and Louis were still the best of friends. They still loved each other, they still spent all of their time together, even though they spent most of their time with that mouths around each other’s cocks. There was always that connection between them. But now it’s severed, beyond repair, it seems. They’re both miserable. Louis blames it on stress and the break-up with Eleanor.

“If that’s all it is, then how come you and Harry aren’t talking, eh?” Liam demands, arms crossed against his chest.

Louis sighs. “It’s his choice, mate, not mine”.

Louis’s gaze flickers over to where Harry sits at the other side of the recording booth, fists clenched at his sides, his teeth pulling at his lower lip.

Harry is angry, because if it was his choice he would be holding Louis and kissing him and shouting his love from the rooftops. This was Louis’s fault. He was the reason they couldn’t be friends anymore. “Maybe if you were willing to actually take some fucking responsibility for the shit you cause, you’d be a little bit less miserable.”

He pushes himself up from the couch and storms out of the booth, slamming the glass door and nearly breaking it. He doesn’t return for the rest of the day.

When he makes it back to his flat, he’s numb. There’s a dull ache in his chest where his heart used to be, the heart that was filled with nothing but feathered hair, blue eyes, high cheekbones, and rough touches. Now he feels nothing. He presses his hand to his chest to check if it’s even there anymore. He feels the steady beat, slower than normal, but nonetheless enduring and even. He takes a deep breath. He knows he will survive.

But inside, he feels nothing but emptiness. An obscure, vacant, hollow ache.

He wonders if this is what death feels like.

_Over and over_   
_Over and over_   
_I fall for you_   
_Over and over_   
_Over and over_   
_I try not to_

**Author's Note:**

> So this kind of took on a life of it's own and winded me a bit. It was pretty brutal to write. Hopefully I didn't kill you with the ending there. Anyway, as usual, feedback is always appreciated! Let me know what you guys think.


End file.
